This was... difficult. I finally decided some things about this fic. And discovered I'd already begun setting it up to get there without even knowing my intended path. The brain is funny like that - I get a big epiphany and look back and see that things are actually already set to take it on. But it wasn't an easy chapter the wrangle... Actually, I'm pretty sure it wrangled me. That said, things are going to start being revealed... we're no longer playing with a simple world. They're subtleties now... laying the groundwork for things coming, but the clever might have the sight to see. Anyone who wants to help me (test read, brainstorm, whatever), feel free to shoot me a line. I could def use some not-my-bestfriend-who-thinks-everything-should-be-like-that-Buffy-ep-where-she-can't-tell-which-is-real:Sunnydale-or-the-mental-hospital help.

Anyway, still no beta. I've read this over too many times now to be sure, so any grammatical, textual, syntactical, anecdotal, and or spelling errors are all mine. And I'm too tired to care.

As always: comments, constructive criticism, cookies... I love them, I crave them (especially snickerdoodles... omg). Haters, hate elsewhere.

"Words can be like X-rays if you use them properly - they'll go through anything. You read and you're pierced." - Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

Chapter 4: I like my coffee like I like my men...

Do you like coffee?

The page stared up at him as he stared down at it. It was one of those things, he reasoned. One of those strange things about communication – words, especially written ones, could stare you down just as readily as a piercing gaze. Spoken ones could be sharp and cutting and confused, misconstrued, but written down...

Do you like coffee?

He didn't like words, though he used to. Used to be, words were his dagger. His weapon against the world. Always ready with a sarcastic quip or witticism.

Once he had been a champion of grammar and syntax, memorized diction and pronunciation. He was a wordsmith, carefully crafting the tools of his trade.

Now though...

Do you like coffee?

Yes.

~o0o~

Blaine grinned. He felted cheeky with cleverness and bolstered with cheerful hope. It was a blinding combination which had Wes mock shielding himself against its power as Blaine dumped himself into an open chair.

"Someone looks like the cat who got the cream," he commented, watching Blaine prop himself up on his elbows and continue to beam.

"Canary."

"We don't eat canaries here at Dalton," Wes chided. "You'd do well to remember that. I take it your endeavors continue to be fruitful?"

With a chuckle, Blaine scooped up a piece of toast from the plate between them and munched on it before speaking. "I am a genius," he announced.

"What did you write this time?"

"Actually, I left a coffee on his doorstep. I thought about writing something like 'tell me if I'm close', but that seemed too stalker-ish." Wes seemed to agree and hmmed for him to continue. The coffee bit was a stroke of genius, as far as Blaine was concerned. He didn't feel like Kurt would take too well to being invited for coffee just yet, but if Blaine could somehow guess his coffee order... or just make him smile with the effort... "Instead, the note says 'To help you jumpstart your morning. I didn't know your coffee order, but I thought you might like this one.'"

"That is rather genius. So what did you get him?" Wes asked. He sipped his own coffee, a strong black brew preferably percolated with fresh cream, Blaine knew.

It was one of those odd things he picked up on: coffee orders. He liked to try and read people, guess their order – a person's personality tended to reflect in their coffee order. For example, Wes' simple coffee: straightforward and honest with the ability to bite, but smooth around the edges and not overly bitter. Blaine himself liked a drip coffee, three packs of raw sugar, one cream: serious with a growing sweetness the longer you sipped on it.

Kurt was a new kind of challenge. Blaine knew next to nothing about the boy, in all honesty. Knowing someone is smart and gay and shy and possibly into cars – why else would he have one taped to his door? – didn't tell you much of anything about a person's personality let alone their coffee order.

He'd racked his brains for something he thought Kurt might like, throwing out ideas that he knew he couldn't access like cold press or percolated (because honestly, he thought a sweet percolated coffee and chicory blend, strongly brewed with sugar and cream turning it just this side of black creating a naturally chocolatey taste, would be perfect for the shy boy if ever he tried it). Instead he focused on the options in the lounge, bypassing the drip coffee without a thought and heading straight to the more complicated beverages. Something espresso based, milky and sweet. Macchiato was written off as well, too bold and loud in flavor – not enough finesse.

Eventually the debate came down to latte versus cappuccino. Blaine didn't bother to waffle over whole, two percent, or non-fat, foamy, no foam, or other... this was a first attempt. It wouldn't be perfect, probably wouldn't even be close at all. He did however decide that a shot of mocha was a must.

Simple, first try: mocha cappuccino it was. It was a richer beverge, but not over bold – and while Kurt was shy and looked a bit delicate, he didn't come off as a latte kind of guy. Too weak, too much milk, too little coffee too easily hidden by the sweet mocha syrup.

Wes' expression was amused as Blaine explained his reasoning in explicit detail. "You sure you're not over thinking this?" he asked between a bite of egg and the strip of bacon that was on its way to being devoured.

"I probably am," Blaine agreed. "Kurt is not a coffee and his coffee order doesn't define him, but it's actually rather fun: guessing people's coffee orders by their personality. Take for instance, I don't know if Jeff drinks coffee or not, but he's totally one of those specialty drink kinda guys, the kind that baristas get sick of making because everyone orders the crap out of them. Like pumpkin spice with extra whip and cinnamon."

"I think he had one of those a day while they were featured," Wes mused aloud. Blaine was unsurprised. It seemed like a Jeff thing to do. "And Nick?" The older boy asked, clearly getting into Blaine's psychology of coffee.

"A latte, mellow and on the sweet side with a shot of caramel," was Blaine's immediately answer. "Iced on hot days," he added as an afterthought.

Wes looked impressed. "Mr. Anderson, you've spent way too much time thinking about this."

Blaine could only shrug because he honestly had.

~o0o~

He waited as long as he could bear to head back to his room. Each passing moment made his skin itch: Had Kurt liked the coffee? Had he responded to the note? Was it too much? It was too much, wasn't it? He found himself constantly checking the clock, certain the second hand was running widdershins – as such would be his luck.

When he got to the point of chewing his nails, Wes sent him off with a scolding look. "You're making me anxious. Go, check, or find something to occupy yourself elsewhere. This is a day of rest, so leave me to mine."

The walk back to the hall was in fits and spurts. Blaine wanted to arrive and yet he feared it as well. Giddy feelings warred with the churning fear that he had overstepped. It wasn't 'til he found himself facing his own door that he breathed out a sigh of relief. For there, attached in what was becoming traditional fashion, was a note, folded this time, with his name in Kurt's untidy scrawl.

Glancing about, Blaine tore the note from the door and let himself inside. His fingers shook, dropping the page twice before he managed to open it.

Thank you for the coffee.
It was delicious. Not my normal order,

but lovely all the same.

No one's ever bought me coffee before.

I must ask, and don't think badly of me for it,

but why? After I was so awful to you, why are

you reaching out to me? Why the notes?

The coffee?

Why do you care hung there – unwritten, unasked – along with you don't even know me. Blaine knew it was there, even if Kurt had left it off. He could even imagine is this some kind of game hovering close by.

The fact was, Blaine did care. Why was harder to spell out. What reasons did anyone have for the things they did? For doing something that felt right? He didn't know Kurt and Kurt didn't know him. What could he say, really? Because you're smart, because you're beautiful, because you look so sad and alone and you shouldn't be, because your voice is something I could spend the rest of my life listening to, because there's a passion inside of you I know is crying to be released, because you intrigue me, because I'm drawn to you, because I want to know you?

No. Those things were too much; and Blaine was sure Kurt would hole himself back up, lock himself away further if he were to say any of them. He had to be smart about this. Had to be careful in what he said, how he came across. He didn't want Kurt to think he was some crazy stalker.

I'm glad. Perhaps one day, you'll deign to tell

me your order. Until then...

I could never think badly of you for being

honest. I'm sure this all looks mighty suspicious.

After all, you don't know me – I could be

attempting to poison you or trick you.

Which I'm not, by the way. I promise.

No, I'm merely trying to be friendly.

I hope it doesn't bother you. Because

I'd really like it if we could be friends.

Blaine smiled as he finished the last line. He hoped it was enough. Hoped it wasn't too much. It was a precarious position, this place they were at: past the one-liners and into the paragraphs, notes with names, folded against prying eyes.

With deliberate care, Blaine folded the page, penning Kurt across the outside – relishing in the feel of the letters, the smooth flow of them as he fitted them to the page – before slipping out and along the hall to deliver it.

Warmed by the more extensive exchange and brimming with the possibility of furthered communication, he returned to the common room.

~o0o~

There was an itching at the back of his skull. A tingly sensation like perception. It buzzed and hummed, ever present but often ignored.

It had picked up pitch, rising and pulsing and climbing beyond the subconscious to a whining drone.

He'd felt it before. That sensation, the perceptive/receptive anomalous inconsistency like the subsonic shriek of vacuum tubes in an old television set – the frequency so high that it was imperceptible except as discomfort. Tinnitus the doctor called it. Piffle. He didn't hear it. He felt it – along his nerves, in his sinews, in the very marrow of his bones. It grated like the pulling of individual hairs from the base of his scalp, raised gooseflesh along his nape and down his arms.

Clenching his teeth didn't help and only seemed to make it worse, adding throbbing headaches to the mix and setting his jaw to aching in time.

Friends?

Kurt frowned. His head hurt and it was hard to think clearly, but friends? That other boy – Blaine, his name is Blaine. Wes had introduced them. They were... passing notes. Blaine Anderson. He'd even written it on the last one. Call him by his name. – Blaine wanted to be friends.

And Kurt, Kurt desperately wanted a friend. But he was afraid. Afraid of things he didn't understand. Afraid of getting close. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of...

I'd really like it if we could be friends.

Oh how he wanted that.

The buzzing ceased.

~o0o~

I'd like that.

Blaine smiled so widely his cheeks felt close to ripping. His heart had tripped in his chest when he returned that evening to find another note on his door, folded once again with his name in that delightfully messy scrawl. He wasn't the least bit upset that the note was short. Kurt wanted to be friends and that was all that mattered.

Hardly containing himself, Blaine rushed back down the hall to rap at Wes' door – a disgruntled glare answering him before smoothing over in recognition.

"He wants to be friends! Look, Wes!" He shoved the note under the other boy's nose before Wes could speak. "See?"

Squinting, Wes pulled Blaine's hand away far enough that he could see the scribbled letters which made up Kurt's response to Blaine's gentle plea. There was a shake to them, as if it had taken all of the writer's courage to set them to the page. Unlike the first, though, the paper was unwrinkled, crisp and clean save for the ragged edge where it had been torn from a notebook of some kind.

A knot that Wes hadn't known was there eased, his shoulders feeling looser than they had in ages – since Kurt had first come to Dalton, if he was honest. "So he does," he breathed, relieved. He was glad that Blaine seemed to be making some headway. The draw was there, but he hadn't been sure it would be enough, that Kurt would slip away, that Blaine wouldn't be able to make the connection, and – draw or not – they would lose him.

Blaine beamed. "I honestly hadn't- I mean to say, I had- Well, I'd hoped, but never in my wildest-" The words rushed, tumbling over one another as Blaine tried to put them to voice. Exhilaration filled him and he felt light as air.

"I'm glad," Wes said sincerely, releasing Blaine's hand and allowing him to clutch the note to him like a prize. He supposed in a way it was.

A stutter of thought crossed Blaine's expression, dimming the bright happiness. "What now?" he wondered aloud.

What now? indeed.

"Coffee seemed to go over well," Wes offered for want of a better course of action.

~o0o~

Blaine took Wes' suggestion to heart, each morning leaving a coffee and note by Kurt's door – and each evening coming back to find a warm thank you attached to his own. Sometimes the notes were longer, but most were just a few words – thoughts, observations, innocuous and light.

The week breezed by and with Blaine's audition and induction into the Warblers, he spent little time worrying about Kurt's continued reticence – often responding in kind, short blips of words encouraging a response but not demanding depth.

The Warblers' enthusiastic welcome to their midst was even more heartening than his initial welcome to Dalton had been. The boys were excitable and energetic – and talented! Blaine couldn't believe his ears when he heard them.

Before Dalton, acapella had never been something he'd listened to very much. Sure, he'd heard some – his brother had tapes of some old Public Broadcasting kid's game show whose theme song was done acapella that he'd played almost constantly when Blaine was really small – but he'd never seen himself as the kind to be part of such a thing. Now though... The Warblers were fantastic, just amazing – the harmonies, the vocal percussion – and now he was part of it!

The group ran through a couple pieces, showing off for their newest Warbler with silly songs with intricate layers of voices mimicing trumpets and ukuleles and accordians with Andrew's deep bass flowing under the notes like a droning tuba. They whirled around and drew Blaine, laughing, into their dance.

Eventually, Wes called them back into order with the sharp rap of his gavel. "Gentlemen," he insisted when the cacophony still persisted. His voice carried that strict tone Blane becoming familiar with and he figured, in this setting, it probably meant some kind of punishment was on the way for those who dared ignore it.

"That's better," Wes continued once the room was silent. "We're all happy to welcome Warbler Blaine to our midst, but let us not forget that we have matters to discuss."

"Pish tosh," Jeff scoffed, affecting a snotty, posh British accent. "Competition season is over, Wes, and we don't have another concert scheduled for months. I think what we need to discuss is that stick up your-"

Nick's hand found its way to Jeff's mouth with a small smack, muffling the rest of the sentence.

"What Jeffrey means to say is: Those matters aren't so important, are they, that we should be spending time on them rather than intergrating Blaine into the vocal sections of pieces we already have arranged. He's a tenor, so it shouldn't be too hard," Nick offered, throwing a signifcant look between Wes and Jeff that Blaine had no hope of understanding. "Get him accustomed to dealing with the harmonies and making sure he's able to focus on his own part instead of getting distracted by the rest of the ones going on around him. Especially on the eight-part harmonies."

"Nick has a point," Andrew put in, speaking up for the first time since Blaine had known him. The large boy was imposing – large in stature, wide shouldered and towering over nearly the entire group – but he was really more of a gentle giant, kind and considerate. "Blaine should get a chance to join us, now that he has, well, joined us."

And that was it: Trent put in his two cents, throwing his arms around dramatically while Thad looked offended. Flint and Luke were arguing between themselves... on and on, it was a madhouse. The cacophony rose around them Blaine watched David drop his head into his hands and Wes bang his gavel ineffectually in a sharp stacatto. The Warblers descended into chaos.

"All I'm saying is, we need to talk about-"

"You know we can't until-"

"Blaine's voice is dreamy, but-"

"He doesn't even have-"

"It's not the time to go into that-"

"What about Kurt-"

"Wes, you know we can't-"

"Has the Syn-"

"Quiet!" Wes roared, dark eyes blazing as he stood up and slammed his hands against the Council desk. "That is quiet enough!"

The Warblers ceased their bickering in an instant as his burning gaze leveled on each one of them. Silence fell on the room like ice and Blaine felt the chill of it like it had crept into his very bones.

"I was going to say, before Bedlam was visited upon us, that I agree." The chill let up. Strange a sensation as Blaine had ever felt and he vaguely wondered if there was something Otherworldly about it before dismissing the notion as silly. "As our newest Warbler, Blaine should have the chance to be involved and, while we don't have a performance to prepare for, that doesn't mean we can't do just that. Nick, get Blaine copies of the tenor parts for the pieces we ran at Regionals. We'll try him on various segments and see where his voice best fits.

"Until then, Warblers take a break – just, get out of my sight for the next ten minutes."

~o0o~

Practice ran on until dinner and by the time they left, everyone seemed more than pleased to settle Blaine into the more demanding vocals – which often, if they were competing, mean he would be front and center leading the chorus as it charged on into looping harmonies and – were they to acquire a countertenor – descants. A few of the boys could manage a falsetto, but no voice sung as sweet a descant as a boy soprano... though few enough were young enough to be considered such even should their voices remain unchanged.

But there was a point, while they sang, that he could have sworn he heard a high, trilling voice singing along with them – a voice that sounded very much like a soprano or a countertenor – but when Blaine stopped to listen the voice was gone.

~o0o~

Friday evening Kurt went home. Blaine knew this for two reasons: first, he had seen Kurt walking in the direction of the parking lot side-by-side with a very tall, gangly boy wearing a letterman's jacket. Second, Kurt had left him a note saying as much.

He was mildly disappointed that there would be no notes exchanged for two days, but Kurt had been nice enough to let him know he'd be gone. Their friendship was an odd one, what with the notes and the coffees and little else otherwise – but Blaine was happy to have it.

When he joined Wes and Niff, David was with them. They looked up as he approached, faces carefully blank. It was disconcerting and Blaine sensed that, prior to his arrival, they had been in deep conversation. Conversation that obviously didn't include him.

"Um, hey," he offered, trying not to feel put off by the strange energy that seemed to surround the quartet at the table.

Wes was the first to break the tableau, gesturing for Blaine to pull up a seat and smiling. "So how is Kurt doing?"

"He's going home for the weekend, if you must know. I thought you abhored gossip, Wes," Blaine teased with a smile of his own. "And yet here you are, turning into a regular yenta."

Sniffing, Wes gave him a hauty look. "I am merely concerned," he replied with a lofty air before grinning again. "A yenta, really Blaine? I'm a mensch."

"Sure ya are."

The teasing continued for a while longer, Nick, Jeff, and David joining in and ganging up on Wes until he finally conceeded defeat and left to get himself a coffee.

"I saw Kurt leave with some jock after classes today," Blaine said when Wes returned, tray full of coffees in hand. "He was wearing a red and white letterman jacket."

"McKinley High," Wes nodded.

"His brother," Nick added. "Tall and lanky?"

Blaine nodded.

"Guy's like a giant and about as graceful," Jeff put in. "He practically trips over himself to get Kurt in the car. Opens the door for him and everything."

"Much to Kurt's displeasure." David smiled as he said this, apparently having also been witness to the brother's attempts at mollycoddling.

"So he's gone for the weekend then?" Wes repeated, sipping his cooling drink, deep thought drowning his features in stillness.

"Yeah," Blaine sighed. "Does he... does he go home a lot?"

Wes shrugged absently, but it was Nick who replied. "He used to go home every weekend, but with the special election coming up... well, I suppose there's not been a lot of reason for him to go home."

"The election?" Blaine had heard that a special election was being held, but as it hadn't pertained to his district – and since he wasn't yet old enough to vote – he hadn't really paid it any mind. He had no idea who the candidates were, their policies and platforms... What did that have to do with Kurt?

"His dad's running for Congress. Most people don't even know – I mean, very few of the students here even come from Allen County, let alone are into politics," Nick said with a nod. "But it seems to be a pretty fierce fight. Mr. Hummel's the only one who hasn't stooped to mudslinging and underhanded tactics.

"His campaign platform is really good, too. Pushing the arts in schools, gay rights, marriage equality, anti-bullying laws, among other things. He's not shy about having a gay son, either. Nor how proud he is of Kurt."

Mr. Hummel, Blaine decided, was a man he would really like to meet.

"Nick's our own little political affectionado," Jeff cooed, ruffling his boyfriend's dark locks.

"I am not," Nick protested weakly. "My parents live in Allen County, this election is a big thing for us. If Burt Hummel gets elected, it could mean so many good things."

"Sounds like it," Blaine agreed, hoping the man was elected. He decided to make it a point to use his Google-fu to read up on Burt Hummel and the current Congressional election.

~o0o~

It was all there. Mr. Hummel's goals, the things he promised to work towards, supportive words from his customers – apparently the man ran a garage in Lima – and even a small spotlight on his family. Blaine tapped the link for that page.

A picture of the Hummel family graced the top of the page: Mr. Hummel, his wife, and two boys. Mr. Hummel was a rather normal looking man, a bit gruff and stiff in his suit with an arm around his wife and the other around the smaller of the two boys, but his smile was genuine and proud.

Blaine scrolled further down, noting there was a blurb for each family member. It went into little detail, vaguely mentioning background and accomplishments. It mentioned the garage, Mrs. Hudson-Hummel's nursing career, their marriage two years previously, Carole's son's position as Quarterback for the William McKinley High School Titans, but of Kurt it merely claimed that he attended a private school on an academic scholarship.

It was odd, he thought looking at it from an outside perspective, proclaiming the accomplishments of the step-son while glossing over those of the biological child. But Blaine knew something an outsider wouldn't: Dalton was a sanctuary, it was protection and safety, and if Kurt was here for reasons similar to Blaine's own then it made perfect sense.

Mr. Hummel was very obviously proud of his son – even inspired by him perhaps – it wasn't a slight or a brush off, it was purest love and the determination of a father to protect his son even as their family came under the scrutiny of the public eye.

Yes, Blaine was liking this Burt Hummel very much.

~o0o~

Monday morning broke bright and shining – far too bright and shining for a day in which he had to be in class, but Blaine wasn't going to allow that to ruin his good mood – he just reminded himself that January sun was just as cold as it was bright and he had classes with Kurt to look forward to.

Speaking of Kurt...

With efficiency he brushed his teeth and readied for school, tossing his homework into his satchel and heading off to the student lounge – and its rather expansive coffee bar for his daily caffeinated offering to the Silent Kurt – only to run headlong into said boy as he entered the hallway. They bounced off one another, Blaine catching at Kurt's arms to keep him from toppling to the floor.

"Hey," he breathed, righting the them and staring down into Kurt's wide blue eyes. Something sparked within their stormy depths, brightening the gold at their centers. Blaine could almost feel them burn into him, a warmth boring through him deep into his core.

"Hi," came the softest whisper, a ghost of sound between them.

Silence hung heavy between them for a moment, crackling inaudibly with something Blaine couldn't define. It wasn't uneasy, but there was a tension to it... like something lay beneath its surface and was merely waiting.

"I was just, um," Blaine began haltingly. "I was just going to get some coffee. Did you- that is- I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to, uh, come with me? To get coffee."

He flushed, feeling foolish for babbling so, but unable to stop himself. Kurt had spoken to him – not screamed in lost control, but had intentionally opened his mouth and allowed that one small word to be shared between them... and Blaine didn't want it to end. He was determined to, at the very least, keep himself in Kurt's company.

He didn't know why it was so important to him, why he wanted these things so much, so desperately. Sure, he'd been fascinated with Kurt from the start and he wanted to help Wes help Kurt – but now, for some reason, he felt like he needed... what he wasn't entirely sure, but it involved Kurt – knowing him, hearing him, feeling him.

And yeah, there was an attraction there: what self-aware gay boy wouldn't feel an attraction to Kurt Hummel? The boy was beautiful: smooth, pale skin; large, stormy eyes; soft, pink lips; dark, silky hair. What wasn't there to be attracted to? But that wasn't the all of it, though Blaine wouldn't be upset if things should go that way – no, it was something else, something he hadn't the words to describe, a pull of some kind, a draw.

"You don't have to," he promised, eyes still on that elfin face which seemed more confused than upset. "It's just, I'd like it if, well, you did," Blaine finished lamely, shrugging and only just realizing just how close the two of them were.

Kurt blinked, seemingly coming out of a daze. He parted his lips in a little 'oh' of surprise and stepped back, cool air whooshing into the space that now lay between them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean- that is-"

"Yes."

"I'll just- what?" Blaine's thought train came to a screeching halt, had Kurt just...?

"Yes," he breathed again and Blaine felt the world shake with the power of it. A dusky rose lit the apples of Kurt's cheeks. "Coffee. With you. Yes."

"Yes?"

Kurt laughed then, the sound light and happy and in that moment Blaine had never heard anything so beautiful. If he had his way, Kurt would always sound like that – burdenless and at peace with the world.

"Yes," he repeated, blue eyes bright. "Yes."

Afterword:

For those not in the know...

The PBS program Blaine referenced is Where In The World is Carmen Sandiego, a kid's game show based on the popular video game of the same name which was released in 1985. It ran for 5 seasons (296 episodes) from 1991 to 1995.

The Where In The World is Carmen Sandiego theme song was sung by Rockapella who also did many acapella jingles for various commercials.

The song the Warblers first sing for Blaine after he joins them, in my head, is Elephant Gun by Beirut.